


Scent Memory

by EllieL



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Counter Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Flowers, Fluff, Memories, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22071955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieL/pseuds/EllieL
Summary: Han buys Leia some roses that bring back memories of home.Written for the 2019 HanLeia Holiday Exchange, for MrsScruffyNerfherder.
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 18
Kudos: 75
Collections: Hanleia Exchange





	Scent Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrsScruffyNerfherder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsScruffyNerfherder/gifts).



When she was younger, Leia had always preferred floral scents, light and natural. They’d always made her feel as if she was just in from the garden, as if the outdoors wasn’t too far away. In the antiseptic void of space, that was often a comforting feeling. And for a time after the loss of Alderaan, they reminded her of gardens she would never see again, roses her mother had carefully cultivated and cut for special events. Alderaanian roses reminded her of her mother, of the rose that had been named in her honor, deep burgundy petals fading out to white on the edges. 

It took her right back home, to parties at the palace, long gowns trailing along the edges of plants in the gardens, releasing the scent of the roses and herbs as the crowds swirled through. She’d spent so many evenings on a bench in the garden, enjoying the night roses and the parties. One breath, and she could close her eyes and find herself back on that garden bench.

As home felt farther away and the scent she so closely associated with Breha became more likely to trigger feelings of despair and loss than comfort and home, she stopped wearing such scents. Stopped wearing any scents at all, adopted the antiseptic blankets of space and nothingness, just like Alderaan was now.

Leia had nearly forgotten how strongly the scent of roses effected her until the massive vase of them had been delivered. Two dozen Alderaanian Breha roses. To her home, rather than to her office, as official gifts usually were. After walking in and seeing them on the kitchen counter, she’d stood staring for two minutes before she even stepped into the room with them, as the scent washed over her. 

There was a card, she registered that much, though the tears in her eyes had made it difficult to read, or even distinguish the handwriting on it. She was so focused on trying to clear her eyes, clear her mind, that she’d turned the Force inward and didn’t hear the front door opening and closing, but felt the wave of love and delight as Han entered the room and wrapped his arms around her from behind, lips just grazing her temple. 

She could feel his chest expand, his lips open as if to speak, then he tightened his arms around her, a different kind of embrace altogether.

“What’s wrong, Sweetheart?” It was barely a whisper in her ear, just a breath against her cheek. His breath, warm and safe, like his arms.

With a slight shake of her head, she turned into him, burying her face in his chest. Breathing deeply, she tried to quiet her emotions, find the peace she always found with him. But as she took a deep breath, she realized there was a different smell that she was coming to associate with comfort and home and safety. Inhaling again, she appreciated the bright, clean smell of him, crisp and summery, a sharp citrus contrast to the heady floral aroma of the roses. In a few deep breaths, she could feel him around her, feel his worry and his support, and so she leaned on him for just a moment before blinking and pulling back to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again, brow lightly furrowed. His warm hands still soothed up and down her back.

“The roses,” she waved vaguely at the bouquet. 

He glanced over at it, then back at her. “D’you hate ‘em?”

“No, I...did you send them?” At his nod, it was her turn to look puzzled. “You never send me cut flowers.” He actually brought her flowers with some regularity--they had quite an assortment in the sunny conservatory, and out on their balcony--but they tended to be live specimens of Alderaanian flora.

“I know you like the ones in planters better. But at the meeting yesterday they were talking about plans for that gala next month, and one of the ensigns helping out mentioned going to get table settings, and they’d had these fancy Alderaanian roses, but they wouldn’t still be in bloom til then…” He trailed off, ruffling his own hair, looking more unsure than she’d seen him in the last few years. “Should I have not?”

Sidestepping the question, Leia finally closed the distance between her and the bouquet, fingers trembling slightly as they traced the edge of one of the flower’s petals. Breathing deeply, the scent that had faintly wafted to her as she’d entered the apartment now filled her lungs, as surely as if she’d been in her mother’s rose garden. She closed her eyes and savored it for a moment, even as she felt him coming to her side, silently standing by.

“Did the florist tell you what these were?” she eventually asked.

One of his hands settled on the small of her back, and she could feel his warmth next to her, saw his other hand reaching for the gorgeous flowers, tracing the edge of one bud carefully. “I sent Ensign Boyer back to order ‘em. Wouldn’t do for my reputation to be seen in a flower shop. Holos’d love it though.” 

She huffed out a quiet laugh, knowing how the holos constantly speculated about her interest in such a rough, gruff husband, before sobering again, pressing closer to his side as she touched the blood dark center of one of the roses. “These are Breha roses.”

“After your mother?”

“Named for her, because she cultivated them.”

He was quiet again then, seeming to assess the roses more carefully. She could feel his deep intake of breath, feel him press closer to both her and the flowers. Cautiously, he grasped the stem of one and twisted it, rotating the bloom in all it’s beauty. “Wish I’d known before. Maybe I’d have brought ‘em myself.”

“It’s--they’re--” rarely was she at a loss for words, especially with him, but the flowers, the overwhelming sensory memory of them, of  _ home _ , had thrown her for a loop after all this time. “They remind me of her, so much. Of sitting out in the garden with her for afternoon tea on a summer day. But I thought they were all gone, had all been destroyed with her garden.”

Han swallowed hard and gave her a squeeze. “I’ll talk to Boyer tomorrow, have her get me the florist’s contact. If they’re selling ‘em cut, they’ve gotta have a whole plant they can sell me.”

“I don’t need--”

“But I want to. If I’d realized, I’d have gotten that to start with.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, tipping up on her toes and capturing his lips with hers, once, twice. He was smiling down at her once she was standing flat on the floor again.

“I want you to sit and have tea on our balcony on a summer afternoon.”

“It’s a rare afternoon I have time for that.” 

“Maybe you just need the right enticement.” His hand slid down from the small of her back to the curve of her ass, pulling her towards him again as he bent down and caught her lips with his, deeper than her kisses had been, promising more. 

“You want to have tea parties out there with me?” She batted her eyes at him coquettishly, struggling to keep from laughing, though a smile tugged at her lips.

“You wanna call it a tea party, sweetheart, I got no problems with that.” He lifted her up easily, sitting her on the counter beside the bouquet, her lips now level with his.

Without a second thought, her legs were tangling around his waist and her lips opened to his, tongues grazing as arms pulled each other closer. His omnipresent blaster holster dug into her inner thigh, snagging the silky material of her dress; she tugged at the fabric, pulling it out of the way, feeling the cool leather and his rough military trousers against her skin.

Her hands trailed from his shoulders down over his hips, searching practiced ease for the buckles of the holster. They barely noticed the clunk as it hit the floor, so lost were they in their kiss, but upon breaking for breath, there was a subtle  _ scrush _ as Han pushed it out of the way with his foot. Then her legs were able to properly surround him, pulling him closer, easier to kiss. He didn’t object, arms holding her securely against him as his hands spanned her back, warm even through her dress.

When he trailed his lips down to her jaw, she drew a sharp breath, inhaling the scent of him, which had been overpowered by the roses until he’d stepped so close. As his lips found her neck, she found her voice.

“You smell as good as the roses.”

He pulled back just a fraction, laughter crinkling his eyes and quirking his lips. “Me?”

“Mmmhmmm.” Leaning into him again, she trailed his lips down his neck, until she was buried there, surrounded by him, with no more exposed skin to reach as she traced the collar of his shirt. She took a few slow breaths. “You always smell bright. Citrusy.”

His throat vibrated under her lips as he laughed, then kissed the top of his head. “That’s just the scrub that gets the ship grease off.”

She looked up at him, squinting a bit, assessing and frowning slightly. “Well you always smell like it. And it smells nice.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He caught her chin with his index finger, holding it up for him to kiss. It didn’t take long for them to deepen it, for hands to begin to move from safe backs and hips to upper thighs and breasts.

Groaning into the kiss, she shimmied her hips, moving to the very edge of the counter. His hands slid further up her thighs, pushing he dress up towards her waist, fingers tracing the edge of her underwear. They’d done this enough that she managed to rock her hips in to him while letting him tug them off, without breaking their kiss. As he stepped back and allowed her legs to drop from him to remove them entirely, she reached for his belt and made swift work of it and the button on his pants. He gave his hips a shimmy, too, letting the pants drop carelessly to the floor before moving back between her legs.

A sly grin spread across his lips as his hands came to rest on her spread knees, thumbs tracing the curve of her kneecap, making her smile and shake her head at him. The laughter that had been toying at her lips faded, though, as his hands slid higher, calloused but warm against her thighs. Fingers traced lightly while thumbs brushed firmer circles in her inner thigh, teasing, just shy of where she wanted him to touch. She could feel her pulse rate rising, feel it just where she was longing for his fingers, and she took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the roses but mostly the familiar scent of him.

Then she leaned forward to kiss him again, shifting just enough as his hand did too that he was suddenly right where she wanted him, right where she knew he’d prefer to be too. His thumb continued the insistent circles it had begun in her thigh, spiraling ever closer to that bud of nerves until she was forced to break the kiss and gasp for breath.

After this long together, he knew exactly how to touch her, to send her flying as fast and precisely as the Falcon. It occurred to her for a second that such a comparison should be ridiculous, and she muffled a laugh in his neck, appreciating it, knowing he would too. She’d tell him later, when she could breathe properly again. Instead, she traced her tongue up the tendon in his neck, closing her lips to kiss the thrum of his pulse, racing only slightly slower than hers. 

When she bit into the curve of his shoulder as she cried out, his fingers slipped from her, leaving her almost bereft. The feeling was fleeting, though, as she felt the heat of his cock between them. She reached down, fingers teasing him just lightly before guiding him to her entrance. 

Han was happy to let her lead the way, groaning happily into her shoulder as one arm wrapped around her, pulling them flush together as he slid into her. She answered him with a moan, arms snaking down to his bare ass to tug him even closer, his hips snapping him fully into her. They were still together for a moment, respiration synchronizing, before she tightened her internal muscles, urging him on.

The first time they’d had sex in the kitchen, after Han had noted the convenient level of the butcher block island, she thought it would be a frantic, fast fuck; the kind they’d had to steal in the early months of their relationship when they were too rarely on the same planet and too often without more than minutes to spare for one another. Here in their own new home, he’d surprised her, letting her flounder for a moment as she searched for leverage and ultimately made use of the Force in a way Luke surely would not have approved of, before he’d locked his arms around her and held her in place against him. It had been passionate but leisurely, wrapped up lovingly in one another in a way that could have lasted all afternoon.

Now, they locked arms around one another, and her legs around his hips, brushing ankles together behind his ass, holding close, layers of clothing only emphasizing the heat between them. He rolled his hips into her, and she could feel every millimeter of him as she clenched her muscles against him in answer, sighing as he just barely retreated and rocked back into her again. Hot breath grazed her ear, as his teeth barely grazed her lobe, and she gasped, nails digging into his shoulder blades.

“Gorgeous.” It was barely more than a pant, huffed against her skin before his lips trailed down her neck, teeth skimming her sweaty skin, until finding her exposed clavicle. Kisses traced it, pushing aside the satiny edge of her dress, in rhythm with the steady roll of his hips against her.

Her hands slid up from his shoulders, nails scraping lightly through his worn-soft shirt, then tangling in his hair. He was due for a haircut, but she liked it this way, long enough to twist her fingers into as he kissed her, when he buried his head between her legs, when she wanted to pull his head up, like now, to kiss him. Her tongue thrust deeply into his mouth, just as he surged into her, deep enough to break this kiss with an abrupt cry. But she encouraged it, heels pressing into the backs of his thighs, pulling in closer, pulling him into her, wanting him.

He took her hint, rolling more than thrusting, nudging her arousal higher and higher, making it harder to think, harder to breathe, as she chanted out a steady “H--ha--ha!” that might have been the beginnings of his name. The rise in pitch with her impending release might have been embarrassing, had it not been rather usual for her, and something he encouraged by pushing her ever further, nipping at her earlobe and the side of her neck, teeth grazing her collarbone, or, like now, hands sliding up her sides to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing across her nipples even through her dress and bra. 

When she let out a particularly sharp noise at that, she could feel him huff a laugh against her throat, and thrust into her once, more forcefully, as they both groaned. She was close, so close, and one or two more moves like that would send her flying. And he knew it, teasing her, teasing both of them, drawing things out. Her hands slid down his back, nails tracing lightly as she went, then digging into his bare ass a bit at his next thrust, enticing him to move harder, faster.

His head lifted and he met her eyes for a moment before his fell closed again and he shifted into another rhythm, the one they both wanted, a little deeper, a beat faster. Their voices raised together, breathing syncopated, clinging tightly together until finally, finally she tightened impossibly around him, awareness narrowed down to the feel of him around and within her, and the heady mixture of roses and his citrus scent, all so loving and familiar. He groaned and tensed under her hands a minute later, pulling her back to wider consciousness even as he left it, wrapped in nothing but her.

“I like your idea of a tea party,” she whispered into his ear, as his breathing began to normalize, “much better than any court activity I attended.”

It took him a second to get his smirk in working order, but he flashed it at her before responding, “I’m looking forward to throwing one out on the balcony.”

“How many times have I told you, we are not doing this out on the balcony?”

“But that time on Kashyyyk, you--”

“No, Han.” She kissed him on his scarred chin, quieting their long-running mock-disagreement. “But I might like an actual cup of tea now.”

He kissed her again, and skimmed his hands down the outside of her thighs as he pulled her dress down and stepped back from her. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”

They fell into companionable silence as he filled the kettle and she found the cups, and the heady scent of the roses filled the small space. His hand was warm on her back as she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling so at home.

*

The message on her comm had just told her to find him on the balcony when she got home. She’d stared at it quizzically for a moment when it had initially buzzed at her, but happily took it as an excuse to leave on time for once. Nothing looked out of the ordinary as she walked in the front door, shedding her bag and cape and shoes as she moved through the quiet apartment.

But the balcony doors were open, letting in the late afternoon warmth, breeze rippling the gauzy curtains. She pushed through them, out into the sunshine, tiles soothingly warm under her bare feet.

It was the smell that struck her first, even before she emerged from the swirl of curtains. Sweet, floral, almost giving her pause, tangling in the moment longer than necessary. Emerging, she saw Han sitting on a reclined chaise, tea service on the table between his chair and its twin.

Surrounding them were four enormous, fragrant, lavishly flowering rose bushes.

“Han.” There was a tremor in her voice, and feet that had slowed seconds before suddenly moved with unconscious speed, carrying her to one of the potted shrubs. She inhaled deeply, fingers tracing the silky petals.

For a minute, he looked unsure, but stood and offered her his hand, and she allowed him to lead her back to one of the chairs. Her eyes turned to the flowers again, before she closed them and inhaled deeply. The scent enveloped them, their own little bubble in the midst of this chaotic city. She could smell him, too, as he leaned close, fingers brushing hers.

“Think you said you enjoyed your tea party with me.” He was offering her a tea cup, one of the antique Alderaanian ones she rarely used, had barely been able to look at for months after he’d given them to her. They looked just like her aunt’s favorite pattern.

Now she took it, warmed her hands on the cup and inhaled the aroma of the tea. It wasn’t Alderaanian, but Kashyyyki, woody and herbal and a complete contrast to the delicate porcelain and roses. She smiled, and sipped her favorite tea as Han settled into the chair beside her, not quite managing to look comfortable with the delicate cup in his hand, but smiling at her.

After almost sipping, he paused, then raised the cup towards her. “To Breha.”

With a soft shake of her head, she raised her own cup, and added, “And to you. Thank you for this, love. All of this.”

She knew he knew it wasn’t just the roses, was so grateful he understood and she never had to fumble for the words. He always understood her. 

He ducked his head, hiding a faint blush that he’d only ever allow around her, but said nothing. Eventually, he lifted his cup in return, and took a sip of the tea, then reached out and caught her hand in his, and tugged her into the chair with him. She went, careful of the delicate cups, but he balanced her with one arm around her and one hand on the cup.

They sat amongst the roses, enjoying their tea party, as the afternoon light faded.

*

  
  
  
  



End file.
